words rachel mok

A master builder and paddler talks about fruitful dragon boating and racing

“All dragon boats are the same. Just a banana with different curves!” That is what Lai Min, who first built his own dragon boat at the age of 18, says. But we don’t buy it. For a man who can happily talk about dragon boats for hours, those different curves must mean more than just a banana split.

Lai first jumped into one of these ‘bananas’ at the age of 12. He just couldn’t resist it. He joined a dragon-boat club at Yau Me Tei Typhoon Shelter and started paddling in whatever position he could find a space to sneak into. That was more than 40 years ago when international dragon-boat races had not yet started in Hong Kong, and the Yau Ma Tei race was considered a big thing. “I was just a kid and was competing with those big guys,” says Lai, still proud, though his team never won the championship. “We won the first runner-up though... actually we should have won! The judge was biased!”

But his decision to work in the shipbuilding industry two years later had nothing to do with his love of paddling. After quitting school at 16, his first intention was to make furniture but he got into shipbuilding instead when he found he didn’t have the necessary connections in the furniture business. Recalling his five-year apprenticeship in the shipbuilding yard, he says, “We got a dollar as a subsidy every day, and meals were provided. My days were better. I have heard the [apprentices] before me were always asked to buy groceries before meal time, and when they came back there was only plain rice left!î

While Lai thinks he is lucky to have got into the shipbuilding business, the creation of dragon boats was never officially taught in his training, because, for one, the master builders didn’t necessarily teach all they knew and also building dragon boats was not a main source of income. “They [the masters] didn’t teach us that... so I had to study it myself.” Building his own dragon boat was always a dream and he did it at 18 - with a twist: He made the ends of the boat slimmer and sharper than the more traditional design. Did it work? “Of course!” And again, his pride at his achievement is most evident.

The Dragon Boat Festival (or the Tuen Ng Festival as the Chinese call it), an age-old commemoration of the death of the patriotic poet Qu Yuan, has now become an international event as dragon boat racing proves popular among paddlers worldwide. Many boats are made of fibreglass nowadays, as fibreglass boats are lighter and the material makes for easier mass production. Yet the traditional wooden boat is still a favourite among dragon-boat lovers like Lai, who jokes that dragon boating to him is like mahjong to others: “Once I hear the words my hands get itchy.”

The building of a dragon boat generally involves a series of steps including material cutting, lofting, sculpturing, shaping the boat, polishing and colouring. Each craft must be built according to standards set for dragon-boat racing, and that’s why Lai thinks every boat is like a banana, differing only in shape. Well, if they are faux bananas, how can we tell which is good and which bad? “That depends if you want the boat to be good to paddle, or if you want it to be durable,” Lai explains. Of course, if one wants the boat to be easier to paddle and go faster, lighter is better. But Lai prefers durability and regards top teak wood from China, which is dark in colour, as the best material to make dragon boats. But strangely enough, in the past Hong Kong builders couldn’t order that particular wood for him. “Probably the Chinese government thought we didn’t need such good wood to build our boats... all the best wood went to Western countries,” he surmises.

Lai says a good boat can last for a decade if it is maintained properly - he sighs every time a dragon-boat team wants a new vessel after only a few outings, blaming their current boat as ‘not good to paddle’. “It is all psychological! The most important thing in dragon boating is the paddlers,” Lai, himself a life-long paddler, says. “It is a showmanship of power and if your team doesn’t have that power, it is no use even if I make you a dragon boat that really flies!” But shouldn’t he be happy his customers want new boats every two to three years instead of, say, every 10 years? “Of course it’s not like that! If my business relied on making dragon boats I would have been a beggar a long time ago!” the man laughs.

The first time I met Lai he was walking home along the Aberdeen Harbour from the shipyard. There was still wood fillings and flakes in his hair. Although he makes dragon boats, his major income comes from building Chinese cruise boats - those we see taking tourists all over the Victoria Harbour, giving them the impression that Hong Kong is still a fishing village. He now only makes two dragon boats on average a year. Like many other industries in this ex-colony, business has shifted to China, mainly to Pun Yu and Shun Tak. To build a standard dragon boat in the SAR costs around $60,000, while in Pun Yu it varies between $30,000 and $40,000 and in Shun Tak between $40,000 and $50,000.

But Lai says yards in China often cheat their customers. “In Hong Kong we don’t charge for the two feet at the head and tail of the boat,” he says. “But on the Mainland they try to make the head and tail a little bit longer than necessary because they can charge $1,000 more per foot. It is dishonest and is not good for the boat.” But I am more interested in whether he notices any differences in boat design between the north and south of the country. He says the boats themselves are standardized but the heads of the dragons are different. “I always think the head of our boat is more cartoon-like. Those in China are more wicked... and those made in Shun Tak look blunt.”

In some villages on the Mainland, dragon-boat making, as well as dragon boating itself, are considered sacred. Women were not allowed to board - or even touch - the boat and builders must fast and take a bath before a religious observance on launching the boat. In Hong Kong things don’t go that far, but Lai still follows certain traditions. For example, one must worship the god of land and sea and only move the boat to the sea at midnight - without making any noise. “But it is all just psychological,” he says, not placing much store in ancient beliefs.

Judging from his looks, one can’t tell Lai is already in his 50s, thanks to frequent dragon-boat training. He and his team practise throughout the year except for a winter break starting in October. He laments, though, that his children are more into martial arts than water sports. “It is a pity but I think the sport is dying...” he says. But we don’t buy that either and wonder if, just as Lai maintains preserving an proven boat is better than building anew, the attractions of tradition and craftsmanship aren't enough to keep these lovely boats always racing.